


Peace and Quiet

by kisahawklin



Series: Getting old in the Pegasus galaxy [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cooking, Curtain Fic, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney likes the quiet times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace and Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuinFirefrorefiddle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinFirefrorefiddle/gifts).



Rodney likes the quiet times. People who knew him before (not too many, no, there's not many of the old crew still in Pegasus) wouldn't believe that, but it's true. John's taught him appreciation for the quiet, for listening to your environment instead of trying to talk it into submission.

Rodney's just doing prep work now, the rhythm of slicing the vegetables soothing in the open air kitchen. He can hear the wind in the trees through the partially open window; it's a constant background sound that he can tune in and out at will. There's the low hum of electronics, the whir of the fan from his laptop, the vibrations of the piece of equipment disassembled on the table. John's taught him to appreciate that too.

He throws the cut peppers into the bowl with the rest of the mix, running his finger down the blade of the knife to get them all. He runs it under cold water and listens to the hiss of water cascading into the sink. Next is the beans, trimming the ends just like green beans, though these are orange. It took him a while to trust them, orange beans - maybe they had hidden citrus, Rodney couldn't be sure. John laughed and fed them to him one of the nights they played guess the local produce - complete with a blindfold and, in John's case, usually, wrist cuffs that kept him in place - and Rodney had not only liked them, he'd not turned purple and stopped breathing. He hasn't had a single allergic reaction to Pegasus food. It's one more reason this galaxy feels more like home than the one he was born in.

Rodney's just tipped the beans into the vegetable mix when the door swooshes open and John comes in, the warmth of his smile the loudest thing about his entrance. Rodney smiles at him too, and then sets to chopping onions, tracking John in his peripheral vision and leaning in for the kiss John plants on his temple on his way to the bathroom to wash up.

The meat comes pre-cut. Rodney pays extra because Torren is an excellent butcher, and for no other reason. Well, maybe because he hates cutting meat, and having the small chunks handy when they make stir fry is worth every penny. Including the tip he gives Torren because Rodney knows you should take care of the people who sell you your food. He learned that from John too.

The small chunks of venison are sizzling in the pan by the time John gets out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair vigorously with a towel. "Mmm," he says, "smells good."

" _You_ smell good," Rodney says, and laughs. His humor has gone down the toilet since hooking up with John Sheppard, king of the bawdy limerick and awful pun.

"You smell good," John answers, and drops a kiss on Rodney's neck. He's crowded in behind Rodney, making it difficult (but not impossible) to move, and Rodney finds he doesn't miss freedom of motion that much. He twirls the meat around the pan until it's mostly cooked, and adds the vegetables, stirring the ones that are done out of the hot part of the pan and putting the stubborn beans in the middle to cook through.

John's hands come around Rodney's stomach as he continues to cook, shifting the meat and vegetables of the makeshift stir fry as he coats them all in a spicy-sweet oil they got on Manaria the last time they visited. They're running low; they'll have to make a trip to get more soon.

"Need more of this stuff," Rodney says, setting it down on the counter.

"Ooh," John says, and Rodney nods. They get their cocoa nibs from Manaria too. "Maybe we can save enough nibs to make hot fudge this time."

"Not likely," Rodney says. Ronon's daughters can sniff them out like they're trained bloodhounds. Rodney's hidden them in his coffee stash, in the attic, out of doors... nowhere is safe.

"Maybe we should get more," John says. "If we get a double helping, we can stave the kids off while we make it."

"Good luck with that," Rodney says, but if there's someone who can bring Ronon's kids to heel, it's John. They follow him around like a flock of adoring puppies.

Rodney dishes up and they sit on the couch, warmly pressed together while watching something with the sound off. _Love Actually_ , Rodney realizes when he squints at the computer screen. He doesn't even roll his eyes - it turns out he sort of likes the movie, especially when John's whispering lines from it under his breath as he pretends not to notice it's even on. Rodney sets their dishes on the coffee table for a while and swipes at the volume while he's there, just in time to give Hugh Grant music to dance his way across the screen. John dances in his seat and Rodney pushes him back before he dies of sympathetic embarrassment. He sprawls across John's chest to avoid any further dancing, and John pulls the afghan over them both, settling them in and still trying to wiggle, even with Rodney on top of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://quinfirefrorefiddle.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**quinfirefrorefiddle**](http://quinfirefrorefiddle.dreamwidth.org/) who is having a no good, very bad day. I'm thinking it's a prequel of sorts to my old! John and Rodney fic, [Fill All Thy Bones With Aches](http://archiveofourown.org/works/43716).


End file.
